


Having You Around

by disaster_dan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Because of Reasons, Blood and Injury, Bucky hardly talks, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Home Invasion, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Peter Parker is not Spider-Man, Peter is of legal age, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Romantic Friendship, Strangers to Lovers, instead of pillow talk its window talk, this sounds worse than it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_dan/pseuds/disaster_dan
Summary: Peter knows the Winter Soldier. He comes to visit once a while at night.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker
Comments: 47
Kudos: 554





	1. Peter Parker should close his fucking window

He always left his window open. He sometimes liked to be on the fire escape, watching the sun come up at dreamy dusk. He left it open to hear the sounds of Queens. He closed it for the same reason. Having it open he could take a breather, even if the sky was polluted as it was. There was no reason to close it either. It was still a warm season, and it’s not like he had fixed the broken hatch to lock it.

He crashed onto his bed that afternoon. Gym wore him down, he hardly had anything to eat until he went to Delmar’s. 

He’d worry about homework later. Not then. It was Friday, he had the weekend and it wasn’t like he would waste his time on anything else. 

It was the weekend, no responsibilities. He could afford to stay up all night and see the colors of the sky transition during the early hours. May left him alone for the majority of the time, left the teenager at peace and given privacy. When it was well past ten, May would leave Peter to his own world and herself to sleep. 

Living mundanely, unpopular at school, joined in geek clubs, reading science updates for fun and living with May without even a pet, nothing out of the ordinary would come to his life. Unless it was the avengers but it wasn’t like he was ever near their action. 

The night came and covered the city in it’s dark sky, the lights illuminating the streets and drowning away the stars. Peter stayed up late, doing and reading wherever links and clicks took him on the internet. Four am hit the clock and it would not be long before five and then the sun would rise in the sky. Four am, the occasional cat or homeless just rarely made noise. Cars zoomed. Nothing out of the ordinary in Peter’s life. 

He closed his laptop, took a yawn and padded his way in the dark to the bathroom for a late mouthwash. Trusting that the sun was still down, Peter had not taken a moment to look outside, and by looking outside he might have discovered the stranger who crept on the fire escape platform, inching his way through the night and to Peter’s window. Peter’s window that was unlocked and opened. 

Peter returned moments later, sighing to himself and blindly closing the door behind him when he walked inside his room. Before he could dig through his desk for a comic, cold hard steel pressed to the back of his head.

He froze, because it might be May playing a trick. And maybe it was not a gun, because Peter had never been pointed a gun at before and did not know what it felt like. 

He craned his head, feeling his blood drain from his head and heart, his lungs collapsed. 

That wasn’t Aunt May.

Dark hair falling to the visitor’s face, his clothes dark, mouth and nose covered by another thing. 

Peter made hardly a gasp and the gun pressed roughly harder against him. He flicked his eyes away from the intruder, not daring to even blink. 

His feet moved as the man directed his position, away from the desk and to the middle of his small room, gun pointed straight between his eyes. 

“Oh.” He squeaked, feeling and realizing his surroundings and the very real gun pointing and threatening him without remorse. His eyes widened when he saw a thumb reach for the hammer. His heart stopped beating.

“Wait.” he stammered, bringing his hands to the air. “Wait. Wait.”

His face was masked, standing defensively with his arm outstretched and readied fire weapon to his disposal still a menace to Peter’s life. Peter blinked rapidly, not wanting his moistening eyes to flood up his view. His senses were the only thing he had at that point.

“You’re bleeding.” he pointed out, eyes darting from the wound and to the threat of the sleek black fire weapon pointed right at his face.

The man glanced down at it for a split second and glared back at Peter. He probably didn’t care. And it didn’t seem to wear him down either. It was ugly though. Peter’s nose picked up on the heavy spoiled-like smell of it. In the dark, the big wet patch of blood on the equally dark clothes was noticeable.

“If you d-don’t shoot me I can fix you up. I’ll get you a healing kit. Please don’t shoot me.”

The gun didn’t go down, the only difference seemed to be the single blink the man gave at the offer. It looked very uncomfortable to be him at that moment.

“Whatever you want.” he whispered, not being able to hold back the tear rolling down his cheek and finishing line to his chin. “P-please. I don’t want anybody getting hurt. I won’t tell. Don’t shoot.”

Peter gasped and flinched when the weapon was waved suddenly. His eyes stayed trained, breathing hard, his legs felt weak, heart was pumping hard against his chest. 

The man waved the gun once more.  _ Door _ . 

Peter looked at it, slowly and sniffling as quietly as he could. He looked back to the intruder, shakily raising his thumb and pointing at the door. 

“Aid k-kit?”

A nod. 

Peter nodded, backing up until his back touched the wall and made his way like that to the door, heaving and trying to keep himself together. If he made it known someone else was inside, May, he’d be all levels of fucked. He was not risking May like that. May would freak out or worst, put herself before Peter and put herself in danger for him. She was still asleep luckily, hopefully she wouldn’t wake up late at night for water or something. 

The last thing Peter saw before exiting the room was the man, still gun pointing at him, his free hand going up, pointer finger up, pressing it to what would have been his lips as if shushing him.  _ Don’t tell. Don’t call for help. _ He was warning Peter. He was watching his every move. 

When Peter came back with the aid kit he nearly jumped and screamed. He walked in, confused to not see the man in the same spot. When he closed the door behind, he was right there. On a chair with the gun still pointed. He caught his breath, forced himself to swallow the horror rising in his throat. 

Gun wave down.  _ Put it on the floor _ . Peter obeyed. Gun wave to the left.  _ Go over there _ . Peter did.

He trotted to his bed, slowly sitting as the icy blue eyes, as he now noticed, followed him. Peter clearly was not going to attempt anything. He wasn’t stupid. If he wasn’t stupid, he was a threat if he was smart. But the man had smartly hid his phone and was no longer on the desk where Peter left it on. He wondered if he’d get it back. That however was not his biggest concern. 

The man seemed satisfied enough with Peter’s silent promise to not pull any stunts. He placed the gun away, reached for the box and snapping it open, making Peter flinch. 

Alcohol. Cotton. Needle and thread. Padding. Tape.

He got to work. He clearly had been mauled before telling from the precision of the entire thing. He lifted his tops only to where the wound was, to his left side next to his belly. It was terrible. The deep red of the wound inside made Peter want to gag. It was inflamed, probably throbbing, it didn’t seem like any ordinary (yeah sure ‘ordinary’) stabbing. Sick discoloring around it, the smell seemed to have worsened. Peter was left to watch as a few more silent and terror-stricken tears slid down his face. The man only made noise when he covered the cleaned wound, padding and medical tape. 

It was a deep breath sort of. Like he was relieved to get it done. It probably still hurt like hell, didn’t seem like the stranger would have anything like painkillers to ease the pain or throbbing. He cleaned everything off with alcohol, placed everything back inside the kit like nothing had been moved and placed it on the floor. He stuffed away the bloodied pads and cotton in his pockets. And like that, no trace. 

The man sat back, breathing in deeply, clearly still aware of the frightened teenager inside the room but giving himself a moment to center again. Breathing would probably be easier without the mask but obviously taking it off was not an option. 

“Anything else?”

The man’s eyes flashed to Peter who whispered. He shook his head. 

Just when Peter thought it would end right there, have the man leave and pretend like it never happened, forget why he was even up at four in the morning, the stranger raised to his feet in swift move and once again the gun was in his hand. He took steps towards the boy and Peter panicked kicked his legs out until he was on his bed and pressed up against the wall. The man didn’t cease his steps and Peter let out a weak wince.

“Please please please don’t please don’t please…” he sniffled quietly, staring up to what might be the last thing he saw. “I won’t tell, I promise. Please don’t please...” he begged, bringing his legs up to his chest. 

The man didn’t move to point the weapon. He stood to the bed, looking down with a glare, a look Peter really couldn’t see in the dark. His arms hung to his side, as if examining the boy before him.

His hand went up again and pointer finger up to his ‘mouth’. 

_ Don’t tell. _

Peter vigorously nodded, tears springing like rivers. 

“ _ Promise _ .”

Enough, the man kept his eyes on Peter as he made his way to the open window. He slid through and balanced himself on the fire escape platform. Peter just watched from where he sat on the bed, trying to remember how to breathe again. 

Then he was gone. Just like the wind, he disappeared, vanishing somewhere to the late hours of New York. 

Peter could try to fix his locking hatch. Seal all the windows in the apartment, nail them shut. But even if Peter did, that would not be the last time he saw the stranger. Nor the last time he’d come to the fire escape and into his room.


	2. Peter Parker should stop doing stupid shit

He checked his window every night from that point on. The window was closed most of the time, Peter kept the blinds somewhat closed to still be able to look out. Clearly, at the time, there was no possibility the man would appear again. Only in his dreams he did. Still, that didn’t guarantee he would never show up, as his inner conscience shot the warnings he had blocked out. 

He came some week after. He wasn’t hurt judging by his outfit and still agility of moving. Peter saw him, saw his shadow before making himself known. He stayed up, that night he did. A voice told him to stay awake, try and catch that dusk morning colors in the sky, try to repeat the events from previous.

Peter stood up, slowly, heart at throat, he moved the blinders wider open. They no longer hid the man from Peter’s room. He stepped away from the window as it was gently pushed open, not making a squeak that it usually did when Peter opened and closed it. 

He stepped inside, making less noise than Peter was who was just breathing deeply. And like that, he was once again inside Peter’s room, invading his home, risking his safety. At least he did not have the gun pointed at Peter. He was not here to hurt him. He would have already if that was the intention. Peter however, twenty five seconds later, was still alive. 

Peter once again couldn’t help the tears forming in his eyes, blurring his vision and mixing shadows and light. When his vision did clear, the man’s right hand displayed his phone. Oh his phone. He had forgotten about that thing.

Peter didn’t say a word. His eyes wide and hyper concentrated on the intruder and his phone. It was off, the man showed with rather gusto. He waved it then let it fall onto the blanket covered mattress of the boy. Lights off, night on. Still, only his blue eyes were to the view.

He went back outside. Not leaving a mark or trace. Not saying a word but saying enough. And when Peter peeked outside and tried to see him, the stranger had disappeared once again like the night before to his dismay. It was ridiculous to pinch oneself in case the world around was a dream, but Peter did so without a second thought and his emotions splayed far when realizing it was all reality and not omissions of sleep.

Instead of ever telling someone, getting help or the avengers involved, Peter continued his mundane days. His nights were uneventful as his days.They were until he showed up _again_. Nobody that wasn’t Peter saw him.

He showed up, but he didn’t go inside. He sat on the fire escape next to Peter’s window. Peter crept up to the window, pressed his hand to the cold glass. Without warning, the man turned his face to him and it startled the boy who thought he hadn’t made any noise. He jumped back with a gasp. Clearly there was no way around this guy. 

Instead of crawling his way inside Peter’s room, the man gave him a few more moments to look at and then turned away to look at the city as he previously was. Peter wasn’t going to call for help or warn anybody. And _he_ knew it. It was delirious, Peter should have told May about the intruder, the danger this entire situation posed. But he didn’t, and he wouldn’t. He didn’t know why.

The man knew that. There was no fear the boy would run his mouth about anything. If he had, he would not be sitting on that fire escape, nor would he have been in Queens after the first visit. The first time was a mistake, and luck happened to fall on him that this stupid kid was not going to do the logical and obvious thing and warn authorities about him.

Peter nudged the window open, it squeaked slightly, and it made the man look back at him sharply with intrigue. His eyes could tell a lot, he still wore that mask over his face. 

“Thank you for not killing me.” Peter whispered, leaning slightly out to speak to his guest. “And- my phone.”

No response from him, except for a blink and then looking out. It was weird to thank some home invasor for not ending your life, at that point Peter had a whole lot of weird in his life. Like his Aunt who was constantly flirted on, or that his friend managed to get a girlfriend before him as he was the wingman, he knows how to dance pretty well and facades that part of him with an unnecessary awkward walk. And who knew MJ would crush on Peter? That was one of the biggest weirdest things. 

So- thanking who could be a possible murderer - breaking into his room, holding him at gunpoint, took his phone - for not killing him wasn’t the weirdest thing. Peter still had no idea who he was or _what_ he looked like, but it was safe to assume he would keep his life and that man was no danger to Peter’s life. Peter would have been dead if that stranger wanted to do so and still escape without tracks. Peter in return promised to not tell anybody, hadn’t he? 

It was a breezy night. Just right to sit out for. Just right for the rowdy teenagers to smoke pot and wander the streets in life. Just right for the pigeons to wobble along. Just right for the man to climb up the platforms and sit right outside Peter’s window. And it was just right for Peter to sit right along. 

Peter further pushed the window open, his hands feeling out the cool surface of the frame and then pulling himself out with not much ease. The man glanced at him until Peter had situated himself enough next to him about a foot apart. Much closer than they should’ve been. The man shifted slightly with a deep sigh. Peter crossed his legs, keeping his eyes sharp on the man next to him as he laid back against the brick.

“This is my spot sometimes.” Peter shares quietly and suddenly. “I like heights sometimes, and this place you can actually see the city.” the man does not move. “Our last place wasn’t so nice. I mean- it was nice but not like this.”

No replies, as expected through three times of seeing each other. The man had no business there. Maybe he just liked the view too. An uninvited guest. Not unlike regular people, because we're not mysterious. They could be secretive, and still would be nothing like the man that was next to Peter. Whatever and whoever he was, he was something else. Peter, though his conscience dirty for seeing it that way, admired him. He could pose danger to Peter, but he didn’t. Peter was only allowed to see his eyes, and as of lately those steel cold eyes had followed into Peter’s dreams. 

He left about two hours later, Peter’s lids had begun to go heavy. He had only gotten a few seconds of a nap when a rough nudge sprung him from sleep. He looked up and the man’s eyes, even through the mop of dark hair, that blue just striked through Peter. It made him shiver. The man motioned with his head towards the open window. _Go inside_. It made Peter release a breath he didn’t know he held. He listened to the silent direction for his own convenience and waved the masked man a farewell.

“Have a good morning.” he said, half asleep and clumsily climbing back inside to the warm darkness of his room. And when Peter poked his head out to look at him one last time, he was gone. 

One half of Peter told him to report in the various intrusions. Another part was making him hope for the big masked man with blue eyes to show up again. And that part of Peter was stronger than the other yelling at him to do the right thing. Peter hadn’t always done the right thing, even if he tried. There was no use trying to be the smarty-pants then. 

Various weekends rolled through before Peter and Masky (that was the best he could think of besides ‘ocean eyes’). He was beyond thrilled when the looming shadow appeared on his blinds. He nearly jumped out of his seat. When he tiptoed over, opened the blinds and pressed himself against the glass, there was the black uniform, the long hair and the blue eyes. Right there, back to Peter’s window again.

His stomach turned and heart jumped in excitement. Peter pushed the window open, it did not alarm ‘Masky’ in the slightest. Peter leaned out, pulling his sweater tighter around himself. It was a chillier night. 

“Food?”

No response. Peter took it as a yes. And when Peter brought out juice boxes, sandwiches and oranges, that was what startled the man. 

“It’s clean.” Peter assured him, holding up the man’s lunch. “You wanna eat it out here?”

No response, but very wide and bewildered eyes looking at Peter and the food presented. 

“Come inside.”

That’s how Peter ended up having a two am snack with the Winter Soldier in his room. Peter of course didn’t know that was the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes who should had been laid to rest in 1944. Alive, healed from the wound that cost him a lot of strength, not a place to find nor an identity to discover. Peter did not know he had welcomed a World War two veteran, a Russian Assassin and a Government convict into his home. He didn’t think of those questions, sitting on his bed and eating down his meal while ‘Masky’ ate his food.

Hood up, looking away from Peter’s view at the other side of the room. Two sandwiches, a juicebox and an orange were probably not enough for the grown man to be satisfied with. But the man was still grateful. When ‘Masky’ was done, mask back in place and the entirety of his meal gone, he reached over a surface to place his plate. That’s when Peter for the first time caught the glint of the metal on his left side. Left hand, fingers made out of shifting plates for the lack of human hand. 

That night Peter realized- he had made a new friend.


	3. Bucky Barnes is fucking human

Bucky shows up and it becomes a rotating schedule. He begins to look forward to the weekends when he counts down the days, lacking anything like a calendar or a watch. By day five, Bucky runs off to clean himself as much as possible before going off to where the boy lived. It isn’t much, he still carries the slight tint of dirt or sweat. 

The authorities and the avengers havent shown signs of catching up to his steps. Nothing has been after Bucky, as far as he knew.

Peter seemed to not have connected the dots either. The kid continued to open his window, welcome a goddamn assassin into his room in the middle of the night. Bucky didn’t know how to show his gratitude besides not killing him. He was being quite generous. He could snap the kid and leave without anything on his back. 

But he wasn’t going to do that. Nor did he want to. 

Peter Parker. Bucky scavenged his wallet one night. He seemed to only live with his Aunt and enjoy these sandwiches that were way too flat to be edible sandwiches. Peter showed his own gratitude that way, feeding him, not calling the cops, for not killing him that first night. And not killing him the nights after

He was crazy. That was the only thing Bucky could make up in his mind. He was insane. Nobody in their right mind would welcome a random stranger inside. It made him feel guilty, he didn’t intend on taking advantage of his generosity. Yet he kept showing up to that one stupid fire escape. He knew there was probably nobody else who would welcome him the way Peter did. Maybe that was why he went there, subconsciously. Peter wouldn’t call the cops. Bucky knew he wouldn’t.

Whatever they had going on, it grew with time. 

Months into the endeavor had granted Bucky the privilege to lay on Peter’s bed from time to time. Peter coerced him one day when the soldier had a visible limp when he stumbled through the window instead with the usual silent grace. Mute still (he hadn’t yet shown his face much to Peter’s unliking), he didn’t struggle against the hushed voice and the hands urging him to sit.

The boy tried to stay up as long as he could with Bucky on those nights. He tried to hide his yawns, entertain Bucky with mindless books or schoolwork. Bucky only watched him, waiting for that yawn to finally declare the exhaustion of the boy and their night of meeting to end.

That night Bucky crawled up the ladder and sat, trying to stop the anxiety that pooled in his belly, constantly fearing a wrong turn where he would face the people looking for him. Or Hydra. He felt safe, on that railing, late at night, next to Peter’s window. The kid didn’t have a bad view, admittedly. Queens had its ups and downs but that view into the streets and city was surreal sometimes. Whatever it was. His day wasn’t half bad, doing whatever he could to obtain information about the modern world he was suddenly awoken to and anything about himself. Well, anything about him as a person - not a suspect.

Peter just as any other week welcomed him inside with such warmth and friendliness. Bucky sometimes thought about how it all came to be. He felt bad sometimes, Peter didn’t seem to detest him for it either. If all, he seemed glad. 

Peter rambled on about his week or day, it seems to Bucky as if he was letting out everything he left unsaid throughout the entire week. That night he talked about what he did and the science of cosmos, always interesting for Bucky to pay attention. 

Peter jumped on the bed, a flush on his face and unreasonably out of breath after talking about space and stars and things that made no sense except to Peter.

“Everything makes sense.” he says, opening his arms as if beholding the entire universe. “I mean- what is the point of looking for answers to every little thing? Of course we need that, we’re human and as a species we need to survive and to survive we need knowledge and from knowledge we get answers. But outside of humanity, why? It all falls, it’s like a puzzle. It’s meant to happen, somehow, for a reason. Things happen, they’re meant to be or not meant to be. Why is that so hard to understand?”

Bucky had no idea what the hell Peter said, so he shrugged and shook his head. 

Peter smiled at him and copied his actions. “Makes no sense, yeah. Yeah-... it’s still very cool. Right? Things happen, others don't. If it does or doesn’t happen it doesn’t matter because that’s just the order of everything. I’m making no sense. Am I making sense? I’m contradicting myself a lot.”

Bucky would have chuckled, so he just nodded instead. The kid was making no fucking sense. He was beginning to think all the nights he stayed up with him were starting to affect him. 

“Maybe there’s a reason you’re here.” Peter began, catching Bucky’s eyes. “There’s a thousand windows out there. And you’re  _ here _ .”

After the events that caused him to flee in the first place, Bucky wasn’t sure the universe had a dutiful purpose with him. He was running. He had done things. He had survived so many things and done so many things. Nothing had order, nothing made sense, trying to make sense of something in his life was essentially trying to solve a rubix cube with all the wrong moves. Even more, a rubix cube with no color. 

There was a short pause of silence. Bucky’s breathing made a distant sound inside his mask while Peter pushed his fingers against Bucky’s metal hand, what bit of it was visible and just barely shining in the night. It whirred, time to time. Peter liked the coolness of it against his fingertips.

His voice sliced that peaceful silence, saying something either didn’t really expect.

“I think you’re meant to be here, James.”

Bucky visibly tensed and his eyes widened. Peter just let out a breath looked down at his hands fidgeting. 

“I s-sorta made some research.” He confessed with slight shame. “I just… I just wanted to be sure. But- still.” he looked up at Bucky with shining eyes and continued. “I still want you around. I know things happened. But that wasn’t you, I know. I guess I just wanted a name to the face.”

Bucky swallowed thickly and nodded. He looked off into the distance while Peter misunderstood his response and panic jumped on his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry.” he said hurriedly. “Sorry. If that wasn’t a good move. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have because of -”

Bucky stopped him by raising his hand; _slow_ _down_. 

Peter closed his mouth and clenched his jaw with nerve, afraid he might’ve done the wrong thing and caused the fall of whatever he had created with Bucky. Bucky was the best thing that had happened to him thus far, he was not ready to lose it. 

Bucky was left to contemplate. He had not exactly planned to tell Peter about what he was. About who he probably was. He didn’t know if telling him would result in no longer seeing Peter. That was a lot to risk. 

He deserved it. He deserved to see. He already knew. He  _ should _ see. 

Nothing pointed Bucky not to. The entire point of the mask was to hide his identity. Peter knew it now. There wasn’t a point to wear it now. 

Bucky stayed quiet as he reached for the back of his neck and caused something to click softly. The sound made the hairs on Peter stand and he stayed attentive to whatever Bucky was about to do. 

Bucky’s hands pulled away from the back and his fingers settled on the cheeks of the mask.

Peter’s heart sped up, and Bucky felt his own slow down as he pressed and slowly the firm material slid down, lower and lower.

“Bucky?” 

Bucky finished by lowering his face and let the daunting mask fall on the bed. 

He took off the thing. He hardly believed himself. He didn’t think he would ever be capable of that. 

“Can I see?” Peter asked, twisting his fingers and excitement boiling inside him he hardly was able to keep himself together. 

Peter’s hands touched Bucky’s face that night for a long time. They kindly held his face, gently ran his fingers along certain parts of his face; his cheekbones, nose, jaw, his eyebrows, for a moment his thumb softly touched his lips. The wonder in his eyes made Bucky’s heart flutter, still he remained silent and in his own awe with the way Peter looked at him. Peter looked at him in a way that made him feel like he had hope, as if he had a chance at redemption, like a human. It made him feel human. 

Peter pulled his hands and his eyes scanned every feature, every tiny scar, a face he never wanted to forget. Bucky’s eyes showed as much joy just as fear. They were uncertain of what Peter saw. Of what he felt about him.

Peter answered that. 

“You need to shave.” he told him after another moment of pause, the sudden boyishness lifted the tension and brought a genuine smile to Bucky’s lips. Peter couldn’t contain his own. “Yeah, dude. You  _ need _ to shave.”

Bucky couldn’t agree more. He smiled, awkward and bright. 

“James.” Peter whispered, his hand softly laying against his cheek. “Yeah. James.”

That reveal became a blessing. 

Bucky suddenly was able to communicate more. Smiles. Frowns. Expressions, responses that now didn’t only depend on his shrugs or nods. Peter could  _ see _ him. Bucky still wore the thing, except now he ripped it off when he entered the boy’s room, safe inside, almost free. 

A night in which Peter had an unfortunate run with life, a bruise tainted his face. It wasn’t much, it was a faint reddish-purple. Peter didn’t think much of it. But when James saw it - he was all over him and didn’t let him off until they laid on his bed, Peter containing his laughter as best he could as James smiled wide and truthfully. 

He kissed his face so many times that night, his hands trembled slightly as they usually did when he touched Peter. His growing beard tickled Peter’s bare face and he kept trying to block his pecks and failing every time. Of course, he didn’t really want his affection to end. 

Nights ended with shy touches to each other. Bucky didn’t trust his metal arm anywhere close to Peter's face, he was extremely gentle when he used his skin one, scarred and rough. Peter was all soft and warm against his hand. Face without flaws, a face pure of every damned thing in the world. Peter on the contrary was less shy in his actions, wanting to feel  _ more _ of him. Peter wasn’t afraid of touching him. 

He kissed the boy softly on his cheek after he’d fallen asleep, moving his growing hair out of his face and made routine to leave. Mask on, exiting the room and closing the window behind him, preparing himself for the day coming, the week, all that as long Bucky got through he’d see Peter again. 


	4. Goodbye's fucking hurt

There was something inching in the dark towards them, over time it had gotten closer and closer and all the hours and days and weeks they spent together blew away the troubles of the world. And during that dreamy time, CSG had closed in and pin pointed areas of where the Winter Soldier might have been hiding and finally after months they had more than a blurry picture. And soon, Brooklyn and Queens were on those maps to search. And Bucky was in Queens. With Peter. 

Every weekend at midnight, the soldier was making his way up the fire escape to Parker’s window and waiting patiently inside; the boy. The familiarity when seeing the man made his heart stutter and smile with adoration. And even despite the time they spent together, the intimacy and affection they had developed- Bucky’s hands never touched Peter much unless it was Peter who gently guided him first. Still with how the first time they ‘met’ fresh in Bucky’s mind, he couldn’t help the tension in his hands. Especially not with the crashing memories and flashing nightmares of what he might’ve done in the past. In contrast, Peter’s never shied away. 

They read together, Bucky found out what ‘memes’ were, they watched movies together, laying in bed together in peaceful silence for them was more than enough. And just as always before Bucky left, a feather light kiss to Peter’s forehead, then the mask slipped on again. 

Bucky didn’t say anything even after freeing himself of the mask. There were small sighs and almost-chuckles that made Peter’s heart race for an instant before bringing himself down to ground reality. That reality; Bucky wouldn’t talk. Or if he did, Peter couldn’t push that out of him. At least seeing his face, his expressions were there. He’d try to imagine what his voice would be like off those small breathes he’d let out and never truly coming to a clear thought. 

Bucky sensed something wore the boy down. Whether it was his classes or something involving his Aunt or some otherworldly worry - Peter wasn’t good at hiding that. He wasn’t good at hiding anything if he was being honest- except, the fact that the Winter Soldier came to his room every week.

Lost in thought, Peter nearly startled when the man’s fingers lightly tapped on his cheek and slowly traced down to his chin then back gently along his jaw. Peter grinned lightly at the affection, thinking simply the soldier wanted to animate his spirits and bring him from the trains of thoughts inside his head. 

The soldier did more than that. He spent a few moments staring into Peter’s bright brown eyes, calculating well what he wanted to do before making up his mind. 

He leaned in, close, and Peter’s heart sped up with other guesses of intentions that Bucky didn’t exactly have in mind. 

Close enough for his breathing to tickle against Peter’s face and just hardly below a whisper-

“ _ Peter. _ ”

Peter felt as if the oxygen his body had left when he heard the words and slowly turned his head to stare at Bucky with something more than shock written on his face. 

“Holy shit.”

Bucky snorted and a grin pulled on the boy’s lips with every passing second. 

“I-...wow.” Was he even breathing? “Y-you... god…” 

The news and papers soon broadcasted and printed the ongoing investigation for Winter Soldier.

It didn’t take long for Peter to find out. Just as everything was going well, it suddenly became very dark and horrifying in an instant. When Bucky made it to his window that following weekend night, Peter was standing inside his dark room waiting. His shoulders shaking from every silenced sob his body shuddered, his cheeks were red and so were his eyes, brimming and wet with tears. They both knew what was going on. 

“Can’t you hide here? Isn’t there somewhere they won’t find you?”

Sitting on the boy’s bed Bucky shook his head  _ no _ . They had already circled in on Queens and Brooklyn and even if he was  _ the _ Winter Soldier, CSG had Avenger-Level intelligence prepared and ready to  _ find him _ . He had to leave immediately before they had finished with all the corners in Queens. Bucky didn’t know how their planning worked, what routing they organized, how many people, the extent of it. He wasn’t going to test his luck when now there was a light shining on his name and a target on his head. 

Bucky didn’t say anything. Peter already knew. There wasn’t anything to keep Bucky from CSG’s and possibly Hydra’s harm.

Bucky had to leave.

Peter was a small man, his career plan didn’t drive him to be the most fit, and yet Bucky felt the sheer begging force of his arms that wrapped around his middle urging Bucky to stay at his side and never leave. Peter’s face plastered against Bucky’s strong chest, and all Bucky could do was set his chin on top of the boy’s curly hair and hold him back as securely as he could.

“I know you have to… I just… I d-don’t want you to go…” he wept as quietly as he could, trying to suppress the sobs that threatened. “I don’t want you to go… I don’t want to lose you...”

Bucky pressed their foreheads together, breathing in sharply and Peter doing the same. The boy sniffed and stared directly into the icy blue eyes that desperately blinked away tears. 

“I love you.” his voice even in whisper trembled. He swallowed down the gust of emotion that if he hadn’t forced away, just  _ maybe _ he would’ve stayed. “Yours.”

Right before Peter could take in the words, the soldier gently tipped his head upwards and for the first time their lips pressed together. 

Peter melted into the embrace, allowing himself even for those moments to believe that everything was okay. His hands moved to Bucky’s face and carefully pulled him closer. It was everything he’d dreamed of.

Bucky was the one to pull away first, holding Peter's face and touched their foreheads again in their proximity. Peter sighed shakily and ran his fingers one last time through the length of the soldier’s hair.

“I love you too.” Peter whispered. 

“Yours.” he repeated. 

Peter nodded. “Mine.”

As Peter knew it, Bucky was gone. 

* * *

“You got mail, Peter.” May informed, peeking into the room and dropping off a few letters that Peter would most likely rip apart. Letters to his name hardly had significance or importance.

Her nephew briefly glanced up from his desk as his hands danced upon the keyboard of his laptop. He had grown, or at least looked more grown. He allowed his hair more freedom, new modern glasses, his face had changed too but to May he still seemed like the young lad dumpster diving for scrap electronics in his free time. Well,  _ sometimes _ he still did that. His cheekbones and jaw were defined and delicately shadowed, his voice had lowered slightly. He was a handsome man, and yet not a single person had May had the honors to meet as his significant other. 

“Pasta sound good for dinner?”

“Yes.” he replied, trying to simultaneously type and address his aunt. “Thank you.”

Somewhere through the years Peter slowly and gradually lost the bubbliness and playfulness he once had. It wasn’t immediate or noticeable, it wouldn’t be. Peter was good at hiding one too many things- now. He had hidden the old heartbreak, it had already been years since. He couldn’t let anybody know, not even May, of a man who was once in his life that had given him so much meaning, love and affection

Peter learned to move on, he couldn’t hang on to something that would only continue to eat and gnaw on his hope until he had nothing left, not even for himself. He wanted to let go, but when _he_ left some part of Peter had gone away _with_ _him_. And over the years, he was able to slowly drop his act, try and focus on things that he needed to be focused on. And when the newspaper came out with the disappearance and betrayal of the Captain America and Winter Soldier, Peter _had_ to let go. It hurt like nothing had hurt before, a pain and worry of something he was powerless to help.

Yet he kept the image of the Winter Soldier in his mind, stored in the furthest depths of his memories. He hid the picture of James Barnes, stashed away where nobody but him could find it. Nothing was easy. 

Peter’s friend tried to persuade him to go on dates, to pursue people Peter vaguely showed interest in, tried setting things up for him. Peter simply couldn’t. He didn’t know what it was within him that just pulled at his heart and anything close to seeing another person _that_ _way_ never felt natural, it never felt genuine, they lacked something. He supposed he was ill-prepared for the dating scene, it wasn’t exactly a priority either. He thought nothing much of it.

After a few minutes of working on his laptop Peter sighed and pushed himself away to look at his correspondence. Only two of the five envelopes were useful. Strangely, two. One of them was a letter from his bank account, the other was from-- Peter didn’t know. It had no sender address, only Peter’s name and address written on the envelope’s front in a neat typing. 

Curiosity killed the cat. Peter courtly decided on the more intriguing of the two and gently opened the envelope, finding inside a letter sheet, a sheet apparently boarded with some sort of glitter or golden decoration. Which was even more odd. Peter now invested, with faster motions pulled the letter out, extended it and noticed that the message was in an entirely different writing - someone’s - from the envelope’s.

Peter looked back at his door assuring his Aunt wasn’t around and went back to the letter in his hands. 

  
  


_ Peter,  _

_ Even worlds apart you are the one closest to my heart.  _

_ You are constantly in my thoughts. I can only hope with you the same. _

_ I’ve yearned you at my side, once again in my arms. _

_ Allow me to be a part of your heart, you in mine once again. _

_ I’m coming back for the gem years ago I left behind. _

_ Yours truly,  _

_ \- James Buchanan Barnes _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating again hey!  
> This is the first thing I've finished wow  
> Thank you to everyone who came by to read, I know I made many of you wait way too long for the coming chapter and I want to apologize for the hiatus of it ^^' I've been wary of all the comments and I truly appreciate what you thought of this small story :)
> 
> My tumblr is [disaster-dan](https://disaster-dan.tumblr.com/) mostly shitposting and other fic-related posts and you can also find my crappy art blog at [dxtrdraws](https://dxtrdraws.tumblr.com/) (same on instagram)


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